The Washington Post reported that 30 percent of Americans are not sure in which year the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks took place. Unlike some Americans, I remember that surreal day vividly because I was there — on the E subway train to the World Trade Center station when the planes struck and changed America forever.

Standing on the subway platform at Penn Station that morning, I remember it was 8:54 a.m. (six minutes after the first plane struck) when a worker for the MTA announced to commuters: "A plane just hit the World Trade Center, I don't think you're going to get down there.bCrLf

Some of the commuters paid no attention to the man's words, and I'm sure a few even thought he was just another crazy person in New York City. The subway pulled up and I got into the first car, as was my custom, and the train left the station headed to World Trade, the last stop on the line.

I wondered if the report of the plane was true; and if so, what was the scene going to be like. En route, two reporters for CNN.com began snaking their way to the front of the packed subway car. One reporter said her boss told her that a plane had hit one of the towers and was told to investigate. But the reporter said she didn't know much else.

As the train reached Canal Street, one stop before WTC, I heard the dispatcher tell the conductor to stop the train and let all the passengers out. As I reached the street level, about 10 blocks from the Twin Towers, I saw both towers on fire. I wondered what was going on because all I had heard about was the one plane. A lady next to me said there was an explosion in the second tower, but a man corrected her and said it was caused by a second plane.

At that point, I realized it was terrorism. I didn't know until a few minutes later that it was two commercial airliners. Anyway I continued toward my office at 195 Broadway, directly in front of the Twin Towers to see if work was going to be canceled.

The streets were filled with people. Some were silent, others were screaming, many were in tears. At one point, people started running as if someone had opened fire on them. It felt like being in a movie or a dream. There was a rumor that a third plane was coming and that the Pentagon and Camp David were hit.

Amid the flying debris, I saw one person fall to his death. Eventually I found a spot about two blocks from the site, watching in disbelief with thousands of others. Around 10 a.m. I heard what sounded like a clap of thunder, and then saw the top of the left tower (the second one hit) bend and then fall. It produced

a huge dust cloud that started toward us. Like everyone else, we got the heck out of there before we were enveloped by the dust/debris storm.

Two haunting thoughts from that terrible day: to recall the faces of all the firefighters in their trucks heading toward the towers and later knowing that some of them were among the 343 who were killed. The other is of a woman I remember from the train who worked on Tuesdays and Fridays. She lived near me and has two sons who go to the same school as my daughter. She was one of those who never made it home that night.